Song of the Irish
by Deliverer
Summary: We all know the tale of Fievel. But Fievel wasn't the only mouse on board that ship. Follow the story of the unnamed Irish mouse, tormented by memories of his tragic past, as he desperately tries to deal with the changes in his life and his own personal Hades. Why does his path continuously cross the Mousekewitz's? What does fate have planned for the family and the minstrel?
1. I Am Of Ireland

**Song Of The Irish 1**

I Am Of Ireland

He watched the other mice then lay down behind the reel. This trip promised to be long. His thoughts stayed on Ireland, stayed on _her_, and with those images and songs and sights playing in his head he drifted off thinking of lush fields and better times. He hoped he'd never awaken, but all at once he heard the other mice exclaim, "Cats!?" He gasped, waking instantly up and tensing, prepared for a slaughter. It took him a moment to realize he was no longer in Ireland but on a ship sailing as far away as possible. That in itself served to make him more miserable. He'd never wanted to leave home. It's just that he couldn't stay there. Too painful.

"_I_ didn't see any cats," a small mouse's voice declared. He had a bit of a view from where he was. The child couldn't be more than four or five. He almost scoffed. The child was naïve, a fool, for believing any such thing. Why then was _he_ going? Land of opportunity, streets paved with cheese, no cats… none of those promises had convinced him. So why was he going there? He knew… Because he had needed to go somewhere, _anywhere_, as long as it was far, far from Ireland, far from his anguished memories and torturous thoughts, far from pain. But would he ever escape pain? No… and he knew that full well.

"Won't it be nice when we get to America? In America there are no cats. But back home in mother Russia…" a fat mouse declared, he supposed the boy's father. As naïve as his son was, the Irish mouse realized. The Russian sighed deeply, along with the other mice. The Irishman lay back down closing his eyes once more and trying to sleep, trying to ignore everything going on around him. But no, he wasn't that lucky.

AAT

The Russian mouse began to sing, and he couldn't help but listen to the man's story:

_Our family was travelling, through the snow to Mince;_

_suddenly papa saw those huge paw prints._

_When I heard him screaming I fainted dead away;_

_And I woke up an orphan._ Collective gasp… "_Oy vey…_" Collective sigh, then… "But…"

There was a 'but?' Then the chorus broke out and the young mouse man gasped, starting. He was awake _now_:

_But there are no cats in America, and the streets are paved with cheese._

_There are no cats in America, so set your mind at ease._

AAT

The mice had all sang together. He felt like shooting up and screaming at them to shut up, that they were all fools, that nothing would be better. But then what _was_ there if there was no hope? Perhaps hope was something he would do well to believe in, if only a little. No matter how he tried, though… Nothing. He felt nothing. Nothing but misery and anger and regret and bitterness. How could they sing of their loved ones' demise and then so suddenly and easily burst into a joyous song about America and how wonderful it would be there? Our families are dead, but we're going to America so who cares? Was he still too young to understand why? He wanted to feel disgust, but again, nothing. Curiosity, perhaps, and he wondered; why were they so alive while he was so dead? Had they not also had tragedy in their lives?

AAT

Another mouse leapt up onto an object and began to speak, saying, "You think a things were a bad in Russia? You should a see things in _my_ country." The young Irish mouse listened once more, curiosity growing.

_The times were hard in Sicily we had no provolone;_

_The don he was a tabby with a taste for my brother Tony._

_When mama went to plead for him the don said he would see her;_

_We found her rosary on the ground..._" Collective gasp. "Poor mama mia," the Italian mouse finished, kissing the rosary he held clutched in his hand. Again the mice all sighed sadly. And again the dreaded word. "But…"

AAT

The Irish mouse nearly sobbed. Another but? Why? Why was it that all they could think about was America? Why was it that they spared not another thought to their deceased loved ones? Perhaps they were locked in their own personal Hades as _he_ was? But how could they be when they were singing and dancing merrily to the chorus that again rang out through the hold. Did their families mean nothing to them? At the same time he nearly scoffed at himself, for he knew their families must have meant everything to them.

Would _he_ be like this one day, when mourning passed, able to hope again? No… No… Something told him he never would, and he wished he could know why but no answer was coming to him. Was he too young to be saved? But he couldn't be, for the Russian had become an orphan at what sounded like a very young age. Perhaps too young to fully understand the magnitude of his situation? The Italian? He had his brother still, and the rest of his family from the sounds of it. He hadn't been left alone, and he had lost his mother, so it seemed, when he was well into adulthood. So here _he_ was, old enough to see the gravity of everything he'd lost, too young to be able to cope as he should have. Perhaps that was why hope had been stripped of him.

But there was no pain in their chorus, hardly any in their stories. He felt anger growing. Anger and misery. They didn't know what true pain was. He felt like screaming. He rose up from behind the reel that a family had sprung from at the chorus' close, mouth agape ever so slightly as he looked around. So he would show them true mourning, and he would display true pain, and he would tell them his story. The chorus would ruin it, perhaps, but maybe he could try hope. So he rose up and spoke for the first time since her death…

AAT

"Sure that's sad but sadder still…

_When I was, but a lad, I lost my true love fair;_

_A calico, he caught us by surprise._

_In a flash of teeth and fur, her tail was all he left of her;_

'_Neath the heather is, where me toora loora lies…_

There was the expected collective sigh. No gasp, but the sigh. Now to try out hope. "But…" he began, hoping it would motivate him as it had the others. As the others burst into a chorus, though, he never joined. He felt nothing. His ears drooped once more and his forced smile fell. Silently he backed away from the crowds singing along to cover his tracks. As soon as he was away, though, he went to a wall, leaning his forehead against the cool wood and wishing death would simply take him. There was no hope, there was nothing for him anymore but a promise he had foolishly made to her, to _her_… his Irish Lullaby.

Tears fell silently from his eyes. Oh he prayed a storm would come and sweep him overboard. Just then, however, a voice spoke, saying, "Ex-excuse me."

AAT

He turned to this new voice curiously. A mouse that wasn't singing? A young girl, couldn't have even been a teenager. "Yes lass?" he questioned. He'd hidden any signs of tears, quickly.

"Wow, you sang so well. It was so emotional and deep and everything. I wish I could sing like that. Where did you learn?" she questioned.

He smirked, vaguely amused the child was displaying such an interest in him. He ruefully realized, though, that she had a slight crush. Poor, sweet, innocent little thing… He recognized her, the Russian mouse's daughter, as he'd assumed. But his loyalty to his dead lover would never die. He would take no one else until the day he perished. "I don't remember, t'was a long time ago lass," he answered. He inwardly chuckled wryly. A long time ago indeed. He was hardly in his twenties. Nonetheless he couldn't remember.

"Oh, I was self-taught. I've never had a teacher. I've only practiced with my family. I wish someone could give me lessons. I'm not very good," she admitted.

He liked this little mouse. She was interesting. Finally he asked, "What is yar name lass?"

"Tanya," she replied. "If you don't mind me asking, what was hers?"

AAT

His smile fell to a pained look. For a moment he seriously pondered walking away. But no, no he wouldn't bother. The other mice finished their song and he answered the girl, saying, "Nan." She looked down, slightly embarrassed. He sensed this and put a hand on her shoulder saying, "It's all right Tanya. Me name is Dylan."

"Pleased to meet you," Tanya said, brightening. She frowned ponderously. He couldn't help but smile. Rare a smile ever came to his lips these days, and he certainly hadn't laughed since the day Nan had died. Strange, then, that when she asked her next question he couldn't help but chuckle wearily. "Can you, by any chance, kind of, sort of, teach me…?"

He lightly chuckled. On seeing her crestfallen expression he declared, "I haven't chuckled far ages lass. I'll be glad ta teach ya."

"Really? I-I can pay you!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"No need Tanya. If America is anything like what the stories say, it'll be fine," he replied. "Even if not, well, money don't mean much ta me these days." She beamed excitedly, and for the first time in a long time he felt at ease, as if at least one other person understood that he was hurting badly and that nothing would ever change that. He sat down, she sat across from him, and he began to tutor her in voice.

* * *

A/N: I was torn between naming the moust Dylan, the fanon name for him as I just foun out, or Danny, so it would fit better with other scenes in future. The name of his toora-loora (Irish Lullaby) Nan was no trouble. If you look at the grave that appears as he's singing his song in the movie, the name written on the headstone is Nan. As you can see, I finally went with the fanon name.


	2. Once Upon A Time In Ireland

**Song Of The Irish 1**

(A/N: Should I go with the name Dylan, or with the name Danny, I wonder?)

Once Upon A Time In Ireland

Nan sat in her bedroom, humming and brushing her hair. She fixed it up then rose, gracefully going down the stairs of her house and humming a traditional tune. She walked out into her garden and bent, beginning to tend to it. "Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does yer garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row," a voice sang gently to her.

She shivered and grinned, smelling a flower she'd plucked. She rose and turned to see the young man leaning over her fence and looking so lovingly at her that she was hardly aware of anything else. "Oh Danny boy, the pipes the pipes are calling," she sang to him. She giggled and went up to the fence.

"Keep singin' love. Ya know I can't get enough o' yer voice," Dylan insisted, lightly stroking her cheek with a finger. She grinned at him adoringly then walked back to her garden, leaving him at the fence. Not that he minded. She was fully aware that he was perfectly satisfied just watching her at work; and she admitted, sometimes she played it up prompting a soft chuckle from him. And a chaste kiss on the forehead, if he was feeling daring. Soon enough she'd gathered her apron full of flowers and rose, bringing them to a barrel. She would sell them later to help her family with money problems which were hitting Ireland harder and harder these days. It was getting more and more difficult to scrounge out a living with all the cats that had been invading recently. Starvation and poverty were widespread here these days.

She returned to him with three flowers, cradling them. She gave him each one. "Backwards, love, I know, but I don't care," she said before he could speak. "Yer worse off than even us." He ruefully smiled. He couldn't argue that. She had her parents still. His had died some time ago without leaving a will. The only thing he still had was the house, and even _that_ was iffy.

"Nan, is that Dylan?" her father agitatedly called from the porch. Nan frowned cutely and turned.

"Aye papa," she replied. Dylan smirked affectionately at her. It was no secret her father wasn't a fan of his. He had little regard for minstrels, let alone penniless ones. Only the best for his little girl; but she would have none of it when it came to him. Her father could give her a palace and her devotion would stay with the poor boy from down the lane. Princes and kings were nothing to the peasant mouse.

"I told ya lad, not ta come 'ere anymore," her father said, coming down to the fence looking displeased. She looked sadly down. She loved her father dearly, but his treatment of Dylan was intolerable. Dylan watched unhappily. He hated seeing her looking sad.

"Me apologies sir, I'll be on my way then," Dylan replied, tipping his hat respectfully. Nan looked sadly up at him. He smirked at her and lightly kissed her hand. "May the road rise ta meet ya, Nan," he said. She felt him slip something into her other hand. With that he walked away.

AAT

"No good poor boy," her father growled.

"We aren't much better off papa," Nan said calmly. Her father walked back inside where her mother was. She looked into her hand and saw the note Dylan had slipped there. She smiled softly and opened it. She grinned. Meet him in the fields by the hills. She closed her eyes lovingly, holding it close. She tucked it away in her apron pocket then walked inside.

"Must ya be so cruel ta poor Dylan?" her mother was asking her father.

"'E's no good far our daughter," her father replied.

"We 'ave nothing! With no dowry we're lucky a man is even interested in 'er!" her mother shouted. "She's a gorgeous wee thing, but that don't mean nothin' if she aren't gonna bring anythin' with 'er."

"Dylan 'as nothin'. The boy is starving to death _himself_! 'Ow can 'e take care o' 'er? What kind o' life can 'e give sweet Nan?" her father protested.

"A happy one, papa," Nan quietly said from the door. Her parents turned and looked at her. Her father sighed deeply.

"Nan, 'e's a good boy," her mother said. "And 'e's been nothin' if not chaste in their courtship," the woman pointedly told her husband. "They rarely go anywhere without a chaperone, 'e addresses 'er as Miss, 'e stands between 'er and the road, 'e's never taken 'er inta 'is bed. 'E 'asn't even kissed her anywhere but the hand and the cheek if someone's watchin'. What more do ya want in a son, 'usband?" Her father remained silent and walked from the room. Nan looked sadly down. Her mother went to her and held her, saying, "There, there love, 'e'll come around."

"Yes mama," she replied, smiling at her mother.

AAT

Nan walked from her house. There were no secrets between her and her parents. She had told them in all honesty she was going to meet Dylan. Her father had said nothing but goodbye and be careful, of course. Her mother had said the same. She hurried towards the hill they always sat on together. She spotted him leaning against a tree looking out over the fields. She smiled and moved gracefully towards him. His eyes were closed, a small smile on his lips. He was thinking about something, she knew, a song most likely. He never heard her coming. She sat silently next to him then leaned against his side, resting her head on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

Dylan softly chuckled and grinned, nuzzling her back, eyes still shut. "I love ya, Nan. So much," he whispered to her.

"Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy I love you so," she softly sang.

"Keep on darlin'," he prompted in a whisper.

She giggled and obliged, singing:

_Oh Danny boy, the pipes the pipes are calling,  
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side;__  
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying,  
_'_Tis you 'tis you, must go and I must bide._

_But come ye back, when summer's in the meadow,  
__Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow;  
__And I'll be here, in sunshine or in shadow,  
__Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy I love you so._

_And if you come, when all the flowers are dying,  
__And I am dead, as dead I well may be;  
__You'll come and find the place where I am lying,  
__And kneel and say an Ave there for me._

_And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,  
__And all my grave will warmer sweeter be;  
__For you will bend, and tell me that you love me,  
__And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me._

AAT

"Lass, yer voice is unmatched," he softly said. He tilted her chin up and gently pecked her nose. "I will _die_ befar I let anythin' happen ta ya. May I be the first ta go if ever the time comes." She looked worried. Where had this come from? Why was there a look in his eyes…?

"May we die together," she corrected, eyes becoming worried at the thought of his death. He laughed lightly. She cutely frowned, saying, "I mean it Dylan. I don't want ta live a day without ya."

"I… I 'ave somethin' ta tell ya lass," he remarked, absently plucking at the field. She said nothing, just waited. He closed his eyes tightly. How could a simple confession be so hard to murmur? Taking a deep breath he looked at her and said, "They… they came again."

Her eyes widened in fear. "No…" she said, shaking her head. The fighter's. They'd been looking for recruits in the village, and their sights were set on the minstrel.

"I plan ta go," he finally said, voice quiet and apologetic.

"No, Dylan, no! You're 'ardly a young man, please!" she pled desperately.

"This 'as gone on long enough, love. I can't watch me country, Ireland, fall apart like this and stand idly by while the cats 'ave their way," he declared firmly leaving no room for argument.

"You'll die," she said, voice cracking.

"Promise me that if I _do_, ya shant do a thing ta yerself Nan, far my sake. Live on, love, until old age take ya. Go on livin' yer life. Mourning ends though pain might stay, and I'll wait far ya 'til the end o' yer days," he seriously added.

Tears in her eyes she leaned into him and sobbed, clinging tightly to him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her close. "If ya promise me the same, I'll promise you," she finally answered.

He was quiet a moment. Finally he replied, "Aye lass. I promise."

"Then I promise as well," she declared. "I don't want ya ta die," she softly breathed. "I can't lose ya Dylan."

"Hush love, hush. There's no use worryin' 'bout it now. We're safe 'ere. We 'ave time left yet," he said softly, kissing away her tears. Gently she picked a beautiful flower. Smiling weakly she tucked it into his vest. He nuzzled her once more.

AAT

All at once they heard screaming from the village and alarms. They gasped and looked sharply back. "The cats!" Nan exclaimed as they shot up. He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the town. They paused, however, on the top of the hill and looked down. Nan screamed and pulled into him. The cats were destroying everything and anything! They caught and devoured mice from below right in front of their eyes. "Mama, Papa!" Nan screamed, seeing her parents' house on fire.

She tried to run, but he held her back begging, "Nan, no! Stay 'ere! There's nothin' we can do!" She sobbed, falling into him. Quickly he pulled her out of sight of the cats. They waited for hours until finally all got quiet. They looked back, fearful and clinging to each other. He rose, bringing her with him, and quickly they ran down the hill towards the now ruined village. They came into it and looked around in horror at the carnage and ruins. Survivors were wailing and calling to loved ones or digging through rubble desperately. Others sadly looked at their ruined homes or clung to their lucky families tightly.

"Mama, papa," Nan numbly said as they neared her house. Dylan didn't dare let go of her hand. They ran towards the home quickly. She threw open the gate and raced inside. "Mama, papa!" she screamed. A beam cracked and Dylan gasped, pulling her back out of the way. She screamed and clung to him fearfully. It was then that she saw her mother. "Mama!" she screamed, running to the woman. Rather, what was left of her. "Mama, mama, no!" she screamed over and over, bursting into tears and pulling her mother's body close. Her clothes were covered in the woman's blood, but Nan didn't let go.

AAT

Dylan looked around in shock. This reminded him too much of his own parents' demise. He swallowed over a lump in his throat. He heard a groan and gasped. All at once he spotted her father under a pile of debris! "Nan, yer papa, 'e's alive!" Dylan called, racing to it.

Nan gasped and lowered her mother's body racing over to Dylan. "Papa!" she exclaimed, taking the man's hand.

The man coughed and opened his eyes. "Me little Nan," he weakly said.

"Papa, I'm 'ere," she said through tears. "I'm 'ere papa."

"I approve," he suddenly said.

"What?" she asked. "What are ya talkin' 'bout, papa?" she asked.

"I approve of yer choice," he said, gesturing to Dylan. "And if 'e so wishes it, I give 'im me permission ta marry ya."

"Papa…" Nan meekly said.

"Thank ya sir," Dylan softly said, tears in his eyes.

"I love ya papa," Nan said.

"I love ya darlin'," he replied. Quietly he fell asleep in death. Nan sobbed, leaning into Dylan miserably.

AAT

The village had recovered relatively well. Houses had been rebuilt, the ones that couldn't be saved torn down. The dead had been buried and things were relatively back to normal. Nan was still in mourning, though, and her misery hurt Dylan deeply. He'd brought her to his house letting her stay there. He wasn't about to let a lady stay in a place like the shelter. It wasn't proper for unmarried couples to live together, so that left him in the building. He'd done everything for her. He'd sung to her, brought her flowers, and slowly her pain was healing. He made her laugh and smile and where she didn't think it was possible, she loved him more and more.

She was in the marketplace selling her flowers to passerby's. She had a decent sum from her parents' will, but not too much. Dylan watched her lovingly. She knew he was watching. She kept stealing glances over at him. He crossed the street and reached her saying, "Tonight, love, on the hill."

"Forward, aren't we Dylan?" she said, smiling lovingly at him.

He chuckled lightly and kissed her hand. "I 'ave a question far ya," he hinted, smiling adoringly. She caught her breath blushing deeply.

She covered her mouth saying, "My gods…" He smirked mischievously and hurried off before she could say anything else to him. "'E's goin' ta marry me. 'E's goin' ta marry me!" she exclaimed excitedly to her recent customers, spinning a stranger around in a circle. Eyes were watching that day, though, very closely. And ears were hearing what they had no right to. Her fairy tale would end in tragedy.

AAT

She did her hair up beautifully, weaving flowers into it. She hummed and danced around the room, clothing herself in her finest garments, doing her makeup to perfection. She couldn't have anything spoil this. She softly hummed the song _Danny Boy_, as she got ready. She put on her best hat, took a parasol, and walked out of the home heading towards the hill. She never sensed the danger following her so closely.

She reached the hill. He was there, standing on it and looking nervous. She grinned and snuck towards him. He heard, though, and turned quickly. His breath caught in his throat on seeing her. "N-Nan," he barely managed to squeak out.

"Hush darlin', hush," she said, putting a finger to his lips.

"Y-ya're beautiful lass," he gasped out. She modestly blushed, lowering her head.

She took his hands and fingered them saying softly, "Relax, love, relax."

She felt him immediately loosening up. All at once he knelt in front of her and produced a small box. She grinned, beaming, longingly waiting for him to ask. "Nan, I've loved ya since childhood lass. You've been in me dreams since I was a lad. I cannot wait anymore far ya. Nan, will ya marry me?"

"Yes," she said, laughing and kneeling down to him. "Yes, yes, and a thousand times yes," she replied, sobbing and hugging him tightly. He produced the ring and slid it onto her finger gently. "Oh Dylan!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck.

The two rose to their feet and Dylan pulled her into a hug again. "Oh how I love ya lass," he murmured, rocking her gently back and forth.

"I love ya too," she answered, beaming. Oh immortals, she never wanted to let him go. "Come on love, let's tell the village the good news. Let's tell the world!" He laughed at her eagerness as she grabbed his hands and pulled him back towards the town. He scooped her up and spun her around, both laughing. He put her down and they gazed into each other's eyes. Smiles becoming gentle they moved in and softly kissed each other's lips, chaste and lightly. They pulled apart beaming, and she drew him slowly towards the town. There was no rush, after all. They would enjoy what time they had left before he went.

AAT

All at once a shadow covered them and they gasped, looking quickly up. Nan screamed in terror, pulling back into Dylan. Dylan stared up at the figure in horror. A calico cat! Both shaking, he pushed her quickly behind him and seized a sharp stick from the ground, backing away. "Dylan," she breathed fearfully. He said nothing, just shook his head. There had to be _somewhere_ they could run to escape!

The cat laughed coldly, saying, "What have we here? Two young mice on a lover's stroll, perhaps?" He swiped a paw at them. Dylan viciously stabbed it. The cat yowled in pain, pulling back. He hissed at the young mouse and his bride to be, teeth bared. "You stupid boy," the cat spat.

"Get down to the village, Nan," Dylan said firmly.

"What?" she asked in fear.

"Go, I'll 'old 'im off," Dylan said.

"No! I won't leave you!" she cried in terror. Immortal fates, please no! She'd lost her parents, her home, her everything! If she lost him too she would die!

"Oh how precious," the calico taunted. He swept at them with a paw again. Dylan stabbed viciously as the two mice backed away from the cat. "You're taking the fun out of this," the cat growled. All at once it pounced. Dylan gasped and shoved Nan to the side. The cat grabbed at him with his paw. He darted from it but it pounced, seizing him!

AAT

"Dylan!" he heard her scream. He whirled in time to see teeth coming at him! All at once the cat howled in pain. Dylan looked passed it. Nan, looking terrified, had stabbed the cat's tail! Dylan pulled desperately away and ran for her. Taking her arm he urged her along ahead of him as they madly dashed for the village.

All at once the cat leapt in front of them. Nan slid to a stop with a horrified scream. The cat leapt, grabbing her! Dylan bit him viciously. The cat dropped Nan and struck at him. This time the paw met its mark and Dylan flew back, striking his head on a rock and crying out in pain. "Worthless pest," the cat growled.

"No!" Nan screamed as the cat advanced on her injured lover. She ran at the cat and bit him viciously. The cat screamed in pain the whirled, seizing her and slamming her onto the ground. "Let go of me!" she shrieked desperately. She looked back at Dylan. He still wasn't moving. No… No! What if… It couldn't be. She saw him stir and sighed in relief. Odd, since she was in the cat's grasp. The cat saw, however, and he leapt ahead. Dylan shook his head and gasped, seeing the feline pounce. He tried to dodge, but the feline caught him and knocked the rock onto the mouse. Dylan cried out in pain and tried to struggle free, but he couldn't! "Dylan!" Nan shrieked, terrified for him. She didn't care what happened to her, just him. "Leave 'im be!" she pled to the calico through tears. "Leave 'im be!"

He gasped, paling. What was she doing? "Let 'er go! You 'ave me already!" he shouted at the cat

"Let her go? I can't have fun with _you_ like I plan to with _her_," the calico hinted, pinning Nan onto the ground and drawing a claw, lifting her skirts. Dylan paled and struggled desperately. Curse the blasted rock the cat had trapped him with!

"No!" Dylan cried desperately. Nan sobbed in terror.

"No, no, no! Help me!" she shrieked desperately as she felt the cat's claw.

"Nan!" Dylan shrieked in terror. Gods, let him wriggle out already! She screamed in pain as the cat viciously attacked. She burst into tears screaming for help, for mercy, as the cat grinned excitedly the whole time. He loved seeing pain. "Gods, no!" Dylan cried. He sobbed as he kept struggling. He knew it was hopeless, though. He knew he wouldn't get out from under the rock, but he couldn't stop trying. He couldn't!

Finally the cat stopped. Nan was sobbing softly, lying prone on the ground, humiliated and dishonored. She could hardly breathe anymore. The cat laughed coldly and Dylan froze stiff of seeing the look in the beast's eyes. "No…" he said again helplessly. All at once the cat snatched her from the ground. She shrieked and desperately struggled, gazing up at it in horror. He heard bones breaking in the feline's jaws. "Nan!" he screamed desperately. Then all at once she was silent, then all at once she was gone. The cat cruelly laughed, glaring at the mouse trapped beneath the rock. In a last cruel irony he let her tail fall from his mouth in front of her trapped love, then turned and walked away.

AAT

He remembered losing himself in time. He remembered being freed by other mice from beneath the stone, pale and quiet. He remembered people wailing over the tail, but he'd just stared. He remembered that there was no wake. How could there be a wake without a body? There was a memorial, a burial, and all this time he'd said and done nothing. He'd just watched dully, almost catatonic. And when everyone had left the graveyard he'd just looked down at the fresh grave and fallen to his knees, resting a hand on the dirt. He drew the flower she'd given him from his vest. How had it not died in all this time? He felt his eyes burning and replaced it. Her song for him came back word for word. Gently he sang, "_And if you come, when all the flowers are dying. And I am dead, as dead I well may be. You'll come and find the place where I am lying. And kneel and say an Ave there for me. And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me. And all my grave will warmer sweeter be. For you will bend, and tell me… that you love me. And I… I shall sleep in peace until you come to me._"

That was when he'd finally given in. That was when he'd burst into uncontrollable tears. He hadn't left the grave for days after. He hadn't slept, he hadn't eaten, he'd only prayed for death every passing moment, prayed the calico would return and finish the job he'd started, begged every immortal and myth he knew of to come and end his misery. But of course the calico never came back again; of course no immortal answered his pleas. And finally, when he felt his body dying from lack of water, he'd remembered the promise he'd made to her. Miserable, he rose, kissed the headstone, and returned to the town.


	3. Stormy Seas

**Song Of The Irish 1**

Stormy Seas

Dylan stared blankly and blinked at the ruins of the town and the bodies left behind. Reminiscent of the latest cat attack. The mice were digging out survivors, mourning lost loved ones. "This is only anothair setback," the mayor declared. "Rest assured, these cats will not break us. We will rebuild like always." The other mice muttered in agreement, but he just stared. Then all at once he turned his back on them and began walking away, far away.

"Dylan, where are ya goin' lad?" some of the mice were calling to him. He wouldn't reply. He broke into a run. "Dylan, wait!" voices called. "Dylan!" He didn't look back, just shook his head violently, trying to erase the images. They would rebuild as always, but this time they would do it without him. He had to go. He had to get out of this country. But oh how he loved Ireland, his home… Yet what life could there be here? Did he really care about life anymore? No, he didn't, but it didn't stop him from leaving behind his security.

And the minstrel ran and ran until he reached the docks. He clambered onto the first boat he saw, bound for Germany for some reason, completely bypassing Britain. And in Hamburg he didn't stop. He walked the docks until he saw scores of mice climbing aboard a boat bound for America. He'd heard of America, land of opportunity. Not for a moment did he believe it. Yet mice were talking of streets paved with cheese, saying there were no cats and that opportunity abounded there. Perhaps he would take a chance. And if it were a disappointment, it would be nothing new. He would live with his mistake as he now lived with every other error he'd ever made in his life. He found himself cradling her flower, stroking the petals. He closed his eyes tightly and replaced it. Quickly he used what little money he had to board the boat. Swiftly he climbed aboard. America, land of opportunity. Hah! America, far from Ireland and far from his pained memories. _That_ he could live with.

AAT

A violent storm had blown up. The boat creaked and groaned, tossed side to side. Lightning flashed and rain poured inside as the windows banged. He watched the young mouse girl shivering and determined now was as good a time as any to end their lesson. "That's all far today, lass, ya'd best be gettin' back ta yer parents."

She beamed at him and answered, "Thank you Dylan, thank you so much." Quickly she raced off to tell her parents about her new teacher. He guessed as much when the couple kept looking over at him. Suspicion fell to approval, he noted, as papa recognized him as the Irish mouse who had sung with such emotion. They nodded and looked away, and that was that. He curled up in a corner trying to preserve body heat. He watched as the water in the hold soaked luggage and mice alike. He watched the three mice in the tin can floating back and forth and looking greener by the second. They finally threw up when a chubby mouse child offered them a bite of his snack. Dylan shook his head and looked around. A depressing scene, really.

He noticed Fievel, as Tanya had told him her brother was named, float into the hold on a bar of soap, caught in a bubble. He hadn't even noticed the child had left. It slightly concerned him. A boy that slippery, no pun intended, would only cause grief for his parents and himself. "Fievel, come sit next to us by the fire," Papa Mousekewitz said.

"Yes papa," Fievel replied. The ship tilted, though, and Fievel was swept out of the hold. Dylan stood straight, slightly concerned. The boy had been moving fast. Very fast. Apparently his father sensed it as well, and the rest of his family. Papa rose and immediately went after the boy. Tanya looked concerned. She met his eyes and for a moment her expression looked pleading. Given the chance he knew what she would ask of him. So he would oblige. He followed papa out of the hold and into the main part of the ship.

"Fievel, Fievel my son, come back!" he heard papa screaming. Dylan stiffened and frowned. Immediately he began to run. That didn't sound good at all.

He slid around a corner and gasped as the boy called back to his father, "I'm getting my hat!" Dylan looked sharply up at the door and paled. If the child went out in that storm, he'd never come back! He saw the live fish that had been swept in with the last wave. The child was foolish and careless, reckless and slippery. His father desperately climbed after him, but the man was too slow. Dylan raced forward. All at once, with a terrifying shriek the child was swept out the door!

AAT

"Fievel!" Papa cried in terror. Hurriedly Papa disappeared as well. Dylan shot up the ropes and burst out onto the deck looking quickly around. Where were they?

"Papa! Papa, help!" he heard Fievel screaming. He looked sharply up and gasped. How had the child gotten up onto the mast?!

"Fievel, my son! Fievel!" Papa shrieked desperately. Dylan raced ahead, but all at once a particularly violent wave struck the ship! Dylan cried out in pain and fear as it pulled him towards the edge! Gasping he grabbed onto some rope and wrapped it around his wrist. If he let go, the rope would still hold him. He heard the shriek, though, and looked up. Fievel had let go and the wave was carrying him out to sea! Papa was ensnared in ropes, shrieking and calling desperately to his son, struggling to get free and sobbing uncontrollably. Dylan gritted his teeth. If he didn't get the man out of that net, both father and son would be swept away leaving only the mother as provider. He let go and scampered towards the Russian mouse.

"Papa Mousekewitz!" he called.

Papa looked down in shock and screamed, "Dylan, help me, get me down! I must go after Fievel!" Dylan almost laughed. The mouse wouldn't reach his son now. Nonetheless he scampered up and quickly untied Papa.

Papa ran for the edge and would have leapt into the ocean without a thought, but Dylan tackled him and held him down crying out, "No, sir, ya can't! It's too late far the boy! 'E's gone, papa, gone! Ya go inta that water and you'll be no bettair off!"

"No, Fievel! Let me go! Fievel!" Papa cried.

Dylan rolled him over and struck him, snapping him out of his hysterics. "It's too late, Papa. Maybe 'e's still alive, but _we_ won't be if another wave comes. Will ya leave yer wife and daughters alone in the world?" Papa blinked, recalling the rest of his family. All at once he burst into uncontrollable tears. Nonetheless he rose and allowed the younger Irish mouse to guide him back down to safety.

AAT

The mice in the hold watched miserably as the Mousekewitz family bewailed their lost child. Tanya, however, hadn't shed a tear. She looked desperate, afraid, and she begged her father saying, "Papa, please, don't cry! Papa, Fievel's alive, I know he is. He'll make it, you'll see. We have to find him! When we reach shore, papa, we need to search for him."

"Enough!" Mama suddenly and viciously shrieked at her daughter. Tanya caught her breath and pulled back. Calming down Mama whispered harshly, "Enough. Your brother is dead. Do not make this harder than it is."

"M-mama, p-papa?" Tanya meekly asked. They didn't look at her. Tears came to her eyes and she sobbed. "He's alive, I know he is! He's alive!" she screamed. Dylan quickly brought her to the side away from her parents. She collapsed into him screaming, "My brother isn't dead, he isn't! I know it! You believe me Dylan, don't you?" she asked, pleadingly looking up at her mentor.

He blinked at her and said nothing. After a moment he answered, "Do ya feel it in yer 'eart, lass?"

Tanya swallowed then looked down, saying, "Yes."

"Then 'e's alive as long as ya feel 'e is," Dylan replied. "Don't give up on yer papa, lass. Maybe soon they'll come around as well."

"How? It's impossible. They won't believe me, and if they don't believe me we'll never find Fievel _again_," Tanya sadly said. "Papa could play his violin, play Fievel's song, and Fievel might hear it and find us, but he won't play it unless he believes."

"Lass, do not lose hope," Dylan gently said. He felt like a hypocrite, but just because he'd long ago given up on hope didn't mean _she_ had to. She sniffed and smiled bravely, nodding. She hugged him tightly. He blinked blankly then finally held her back, patting her. She pulled away and went back towards Papa. But where was Mama? He had his answer quickly enough.

AAT

"How dare you," a voice lowly said.

Dylan gasped and turned. There was none other than Mama! "Mrs. Mousekewitz," he said in shock.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, putting ideas into my little angel's head. You dare to tell her not to lose hope, that her brother is alive?!" she shrieked. Now everyone was staring at them, and the eyes of the Mousekewitz's bore into his very being.

Dylan blinked. How could he respond to this? "Mama, leave him alone!" Tanya cried, scared for her teacher and worried they would forbid her from seeing him again.

"Be quiet Tanya," Papa lowly said, voice quaking with anger and hate as he rose, fists balled. Tanya held Yasha tightly, the latter of which had begun to cry on sensing her whole family balance being thrown off.

Dylan looked down sadly then back up. Firmly he replied, "I give 'er 'ope! Without 'ope, what do we have, Mousekewitz's? I should know. I long ago lost me 'ope. I 'ave nothin' left, _nothin'_! But gods strike me down if I take away a child's dreams from 'er. If the lass believes 'er brother is alive, then so do I. At least _someone_ on his ship will still 'ave 'ope! Ya'd do well ta take a lesson from the innocence of a child, lest ya all farget what it was like bein' carefree. I did _long_ ago!"

AAT

The Mousekewitz's and the ship were silent as they gazed at the young Irishman who had spoken wisely for one his age. "You are hardly a boy," Papa finally remarked. His fists were no longer balled, and all that was on his face was sympathy and pity. And Mama… she had begun to silently cry as she looked at the man, could she even call him a man, who couldn't be more than twenty if that. A boy that should still have had his hope, still have had innocence and life burning in him; but here he was, mature and bitter beyond his years, forced to become that way, but still a child. All they saw was a shell, broken and weak yet somehow strong. "Just… just a boy…" Papa repeated, tears coming to his own eyes.

Dylan felt tears burning his own. Angrily he turned and walked away, leaving the hold. He would find somewhere else to sleep until this nightmare was over with. "Dylan, wait!" he heard Mama cry after him.

He'd hoped he would be left alone, but as he lay that night shivering and cold, half awake and half asleep, he heard footsteps nearing. He couldn't find the will power to open his eyes. Let whatever it may be come, be it friend of foe. He didn't care. Then he felt a blanket softly placed over him and wrapped, warming him. "You were right, child," he heard Papa whisper quietly.

"We should bring him back into the hold where it is warm," he heard Mama mutter as her hand gently stroked his head. He tried to wake up and protest, he didn't want to go back in there, but he was through fighting to be awake. He whimpered and she soothed, "Hush young one. Papa has you." All he knew was that in the next moment he was scooped up and brought back into the hold, for that was where he woke the next morning, the Mousekewitz's close at hand.


	4. America

**Song Of The Irish 1**

America

It was silent in the hold; almost unbearably so. Dylan sat across from Tanya teaching her some tips. She wasn't completely in it, he knew. After all, she'd just lost her little brother. This was the closest thing to a respite she had. "Lass, 'ave ya tried song writin'?" he finally asked.

"Huh?" she asked, coming back to herself rather suddenly from singing a simple hymn he'd taught her, using the proper tones and staying in key.

"Song writin'," he repeated.

"You mean coming up with my own music?" she asked, eyes wide. He smirked and nodded. "W-well, I guess, kind of. But-but no one likes them. At least I don't think so. Mama and papa pretend they do, but someone told me once they weren't very good."

"Show me," Dylan simply said.

"You mean it?" she asked.

"Aye," he confirmed.

She looked like she was pondering it. He could sense she wanted to, but she was probably afraid of what he'd say. She didn't want her little heart, broken again. "Okay, but promise you won't be mean and tell me to give up," she said.

"The one who told ya such a thing, lass, did no' know what 'e was talkin' about," Dylan said firmly. Tanya looked unconvinced. Nonetheless she raced back to her family and pulled some things from her small bag.

Quickly she returned to him and handed them over blushing in embarrassment. He took them and looked over the words. Pity there was no musical notes above it so he could see where she was going with it tune wise. "Well?" she asked hopefully.

"The words are interestin' lass. Mature far a girl yer age, but good. Pity ya 'ave no music ta go along with it. Sing a bit to me, Tanya. I can teach ya how ta write it down," he said. Theory would give her a break from singing, something she obviously wasn't into at this point in time.

"I-I don't know," she replied. "What if no one likes it?"

"Tanya, I can guarantee ya most o' these mice don't know the first thing about music. They are broken, holding on ta one dream. Anythin' would be welcomed now," Dylan assured.

AAT

Tanya looked around nervously. Nonetheless, she wanted to do this. Besides, Dylan was there to defend her. Biting her lower lip uncertainly she nodded timidly. He smiled and ruffled her hair playfully. She smirked and took a deep breath, singing, "_Do you ever miss, the girl you left behind?_" He shuddered at the words. If not for the fact she'd started it out relatively happy sounding, he would have ended up in a depressive funk again. He had an answer to _that_ one.

Her family sharply looked over. "Oh no, she's going to sing, papa! What if they make fun of our baby?" Mama fearfully asked.

"She is good, Mama. Dylan acknowledged it himself," Papa assured. Nonetheless he looked nervous. She'd never been trained before. Tanya continued, singing:

_Is the girl you left behind out there tonight romancin'?_

_Makin' eyes at someone else and singin', or is she dancin'?_

_Only the girl you left behind you dream her when you're sleepin'._

_Puts the teardrops in your eyes from secrets she is keepin'._

_Happy just playin' a tune and dance the whole night away._

_Hope the girl you left behind will be there for you someday._

_Lonely is the wind that blows, you know you'll always miss her._

_Lonely is a lover's heart if only you could, kiss her, kiss her, kiss her._

_All the girls y'all leave behind could fill up California._

_Just don't leave them too darn long, I think I outta warn ya._

_Absence makes the heart go cold and makes a heart to wander._

_If you stay there by their sides you'll feel their hearts grow fonder._

Dylan caught on instantly to the duet format she'd lain out as she cued him. His eyes widened. He had no time to refuse, and he desperately wanted to, but his student was relying on him. Immediately he took up the cue, singing:

_Hope to see her someday, hope I find my way, back to the girl I left behind._

Tanya beamed excitedly, grinning. He had hit exactly what she'd had in mind! Immediately she continued:

_So tell me you will never roam!_

He repeated, "_We swear we won't go roaming._"

She sang, "_You'll be by your fireside!_"

He replied, "_We'll all be home sweet home and kiss her, kiss her, kiss her._"

Tanya laughed excitedly. The other mice had joined in also as she danced and spun around the hold, pulling Dylan with her. He began to laugh and she grew more excited. It was the first time she'd ever heard him full out laugh! And his ears, they had almost perked all the way. Not quite, but almost. Quickly she continued, "_So where's the girl you left behind?!_"

Dylan and the other mice sang, "_She's waitin' for her sister._

_We won't stop until we're home we'll hug and hug and kiss her._

_I'll find the girl, I'll find the girl, I'll find the girl, I'll find the girl._

_Go find the girl you (I) left behind,_

_Tonight, tonight, tonight, that's right, alright!_

AAT

Everyone burst into applause for Tanya. Tanya grinned excitedly up at Dylan. Quickly they retreated. "Lass, that was wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Of course it'll only improve as yer voice does."

"I know I went off key sometimes," she said ruefully, but she was still smirking. "And some notes I couldn't hit."

"That'll come in time, Tanya," Dylan assured, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She beamed at him. After a time the two had penned the song down, notes and all. Tanya was brimming over with excitement on learning how to write music.

"Thank you, Dylan, thank you!" she exclaimed. Immediately she grabbed everything up and raced back to Mama and Papa Mousekewitz. Dylan smiled after her. His smile fell, though. Suddenly he felt very much alone. He looked around the hold sadly.

Just then a voice said, "Dylan, come eat with us." Dylan turned curiously. Papa and Mama Mousekewitz? Tanya, he saw, was holding Yasha and jabbering excitedly to her baby sister. Papa had spoken.

"It's all right, Mousekewitz's," he replied, smiling sadly.

"We insist, Dylan. You have brought such joy to our little nightingale," Mama insisted. "We have no money to pay you so at least let us do this for you."

"Money don't mean anythin' ta me these days," Dylan replied. "If ya don't mind, though, Papa and Mama, I would like ta be alone."

"It is not good for a young man to be isolating himself," Mama chastised, tsking him and wagging a finger. He blinked then blushed, feeling like a child again. "And look at you. It's like you haven't had a bite to eat for weeks. Come along this very instant." Not quite weeks, but still.

"Do not let sadness consume you, my boy," Papa gently remarked. Dylan's eyes widened and became slightly fearful. "Ah, see. Papa knows these things. Very, very well," he added, tears coming to his eyes. Mama closed hers tightly and leaned against her husband. Dylan looked down. "Come, young one, let us mourn together for our losses."

"There is strength in numbers," Mama added tearfully, and Dylan found he couldn't refuse. Swallowing over a lump in his throat he nodded weakly. Quietly he followed them.

AAT

Dylan was up early the next morning. Perhaps saying he was up wasn't the proper term. He'd never slept. He couldn't. He slipped out of the hold unnoticed, heading towards the fireplace. He paused in front of a coal and sat on the ground simply staring at it. He heard snickering behind him and tensed up turning quickly. There behind him stood a small group of mice. He rose slowly and faced them without a word. He didn't like the look of any of them. "Irishman, beguile us with the songs and tales of Ireland," one of the mice sang out.

He would have been flattered if not for the sarcasm and teasing lacing the tone. Another taunted him, saying, "Oh we wouldn't want to hear those, now. After all, it's been said, 'the Irish are men that God made mad. Their wars are merry, their songs are sad.'" It wasn't meant as an insult when it was originally said, Dylan knew, but this mouse was putting a whole new spin on it.

"I don't 'ave ta hear this," he said quietly, trying to walk passed them. Quickly, though, they surrounded him. He looked quickly around. "I do no' want trouble," he said softly.

"What, no merry war?" one asked.

"It is hardly a war when the sides are not evenly matched," a voice declared suddenly and dangerously. The small gang gasped and turned. There stood Papa Mousekewitz and co. Co being his family, the Sicilian mouse and his family, and a group of others. "Leave the boy alone," Papa warned.

"You're weak," one growled, roughly shoving Dylan. The mouse's eyes narrowed coldly in what he knew was one of the darkest looks he'd ever worn, and there were very, very few. When they were given, people noticed, and now was no exception. The mice surrounding him stopped chortling and looked suddenly nervous. Quickly they hurried on by. The others looked mildly surprised at this glint in his eyes. They had seemed so dead before, but now to see life in them…? It was a strange sight. As quickly as it had come it was gone, though, and he was back to lifeless.

"Thank ya," he quietly said to them all, looking down at the ground.

"Land ho!" a voice called from above. They all looked up. Immediately there were excited murmurings about the new land, and finally Dylan could slip away unnoticed.

AAT

He was packing his bags, rather very small bag, when suddenly Tanya's voice said from behind, "How can we continue my lessons _now_? If we can't find each other that is?"

Dylan smirked and lifted his bag. Turning he replied, "Tanya lass, do no' be gettin' discouraged yet. We'll find each other, just like you'll find yer brother."

"Where will you go?" she asked. "Can you afford a house?"

"Ave ya 'eard the tale of the travellin' minstrel?" he asked, ruefully smiling.

"No," she replied, eyes wide. It was obvious she wanted to hear the story.

He ruffled her hair and said, "Another time then, lass. 'Til then trust that I can take care o' myself, and trust we'll see each other. I'll find me own way in New York."

"Maybe you could stay with _us_," Tanya suggested hopefully. "Just until you find somewhere."

"I doubt it lass. Yer family will 'ave enough trouble feedin' themselves let alone an extra," Dylan replied.

"Nonesense, Dylan! Of course you would be welcome!" Papa suddenly said as he, Mama, and Yasha approached.

"Sorry, Mr. Mousekewitz, but this is an offer I'll 'ave ta decline. I do no' want ta be a burden on ya," Dylan replied, smiling.

"It is Papa and Mama to you, child, and you _will_ be coming," Mama said, waggling her finger.

"Not this time, Mama," he answered firmly. Papa and Mama exchanged glances. He was set on not bending.

Finally they turned back. "If you ever need a place to stay, Dylan boy, you're welcome to be with us," Papa offered.

"Thank ya sir," Dylan replied, tipping his hat and nodding. They turned and hurried to get off the boat. He looked around at the now empty hold. If he left this ship there would be no turning back. He hesitated a moment then swiftly walked off.

AAT

He watched mice going through immigration with a frown. Names being changed, things being said and done, most of them obviously unfair in every way. He shook his head in disgust. Just as he suspected. America was no different than anywhere else, as much as they liked to believe otherwise. The only difference it seemed was that cats weren't the only ones that were cruel around here. The mice were the same.

He spotted the Mousekewitz's. The immigration officer asked their names. Papa told him and immediately the man changed the last name. Hah! Didn't even try to pronounce it. Really now, it wasn't that hard to say. He sadly looked down on hearing Tanya ask, "Papa, why did they change my name to Tilly?" Some questions had no answers, he knew, and here the child would quickly learn that the hard way. Papa could only shake his head. He couldn't tell his daughter why. She was too young to fully understand. In what way, shape, or form was the name Tanya hard to say?

"Name please!" the officer behind the desk repeated. Dylan sharply looked over realizing he was the one being addressed.

"Dylan," he quietly replied. They could give him another if they darn well wanted to, his name would remain the same. Not that a name really meant anything to him anymore. Like everything else in his life, nothing mattered. He was just going through it step by step.

"And last name?" the mouse asked. Dylan said nothing. It was none of his business. The mouse looked at him, annoyed, but on seeing the look in his eyes he instantly backed down and said, "Get lost." Dylan tipped his hat respectfully, not that the mouse would care, and walked quickly away.

AAT

He walked outside and looked around mouth agape. This place was huge! That was an understatement, in fact. He stared numbly at the mice getting into New York and making their way into the city to find homes. He looked over at the statue that was in the progress of being built. Lady Liberty… she was supposed to be a promise. Of what? _She_ couldn't spin straw into gold. _She_ couldn't make everything bad go away. He saw a pigeon flying towards the immigration office. He raised an eyebrow. Why would a pigeon be heading here?

Curiously he watched. As it neared, however, his eyes widened. Something was on her back. Was that… a mouse? But how… Wait. That blue hat. He recognized that hat! He gasped and paled. Fievel?! The pigeon landed on top of a building. Without a thought Dylan raced towards it calling, "Fievel! Fievel lad, over 'ere!" The boy gave no sign of having heard, so he assumed he was too far away. All at once the boy fell into the building! Dylan gasped and pushed through the crowds towards it. This was taking too long! It was five minutes before he was finally able to reach the building.

His heart was racing. He hoped he hadn't missed him. Cautiously he knocked. He didn't like the looks of this place. There was no answer. Senses heightened he gently pushed open the door and peeked inside. He coughed as a wave of cigar smoke hit him full on. He nearly gagged. Covering his nose and mouth in annoyance he slipped inside only to see a cricket counting money. "Excuse me," he called out.

The cricket cried out in fear and quickly looked at him. "What's that? Who's there? What do you want? I'm just the accountant!" the cricket said so quickly he could hardly understand it.

"I'm lookin' far a boy in a red shirt and blue hat. 'Is name is Fievel," Dylan replied.

The cricket looked for a moment alarmed, and Dylan knew immediately he had seen the child. "Boy, what boy, no boy here? Nope, never was," the cricket quickly said.

Dylan became nervous. Why was he denying it? "Do no' lie ta me sir. I know 'e came 'ere," Dylan said.

"Boy, oh, um, that one! Uh, th-the boss decided to help him find his family! Yes, that's it! The boss, Warren T. Ca-I mean Rat! Kid was looking for his mommy and daddy and sisters. Yep, Warren T. Rat knows everyone here!" the cricket quickly said.

Dylan didn't believe a word of it. All it served to do was make him more nervous. If this Warren was really helping the child, why hadn't he brought him out into the main immigration building to check the names of those who had disembarked from the ship? He felt like he should leave, like every moment spent here was another minute his life would be in danger. "Thank ya sir," Dylan said. Quickly he walked out of the building not daring to look back. Where would this Warren T. Rat have taken Fievel? He was by no means a detective, and he wouldn't trust the ones here for the life of him, but he couldn't stand idly by while something bad could be happening to the child. He looked back at the building. Fine, he would investigate on his own. Perhaps he could hear something of use.

AAT

Dylan snuck back into the Immigration office and listened carefully. A new voice was there now. "What?" it asked. He was betting it was this Warren T. Rat.

"That's right boss, someone was here looking for the kid!" the cricket excitedly said.

"Great, just great. That's all we need. Trouble," Warren said as he chewed on the cigar. "Where are my people?"

"Planning something," the cricket answered.

"Good, with luck they'll get rid of the problem," Warren said.

"Did the workhouse boss pay you for the boy?" the cricket asked. Dylan caught his breath. Workhouse?! The boy was hardly five! He wouldn't last long in a place like that!

"Big time," Warren answered. "Maybe the kid will learn something there. Like what not to do when you're a kid in a city."

"Leave your parents?" the cricket asked.

"Exactly," Warren replied, tapping ash onto the little cricket's head.

AAT

Dylan silently slipped back towards the door. To be caught now would be a death sentence. He didn't intend on giving these people the satisfaction. Quickly he slipped out the door. He walked through the crowds. Someone was bound to know about this place. He didn't expect much help from the immigration officers, but then again they had no love for the immigrants. They might be all too happy to send him there. He could play the naïve and eager young man.

Quickly he went inside and saw an officer who didn't look busy. "Excuse me sir," he began. The officer looked at him and made a disgusted sound, looking away as if appalled.

"What?" he asked.

"I've 'eard of place near here lookin' far workers. I'm eager ta get ahead in this new land," he said.

The officer darkly chuckled, looking at him and smirking. "Oh sure, boy, I'll tell you where it is," he replied, suddenly very friendly. Dylan forced his growing distaste for this land and its people down. If he fell to prejudice he'd be no better than them. The officer carefully relayed instructions to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank ya sir," Dylan replied, plucking the hand off in distaste. This time he let it show and the officer wasn't impressed. He frowned at the man, but Dylan turned his back and walked off.

AAT

It had already been close to night when he'd learned of the location. If the 'luck o' the Irish' held out for him the owner would be asleep and the door unlocked. But then again, he hadn't been receiving any of that luck for himself lately. The mouse, or rat, would probably be wide awake and eager to snatch in some helpless fool, and that was exactly what he would be, he realized. A fool for coming here in the first place to help a family he hardly knew, and helpless because he had nothing to fight back with if anything happened.

He approached the door and hesitated. After a moment he softly knocked. No reply. He tried the door and was surprised. It was unlocked! Hmm, perhaps the luck of the Irish hadn't completely forsaken him yet. He walked inside and slipped through the shadows heading towards stairs. He heard snoring and peeked around a corner. He gasped on seeing the rodent there, lying on a chair and probably drunk. The workhouse boss was huge! He was practically the size of a cat, and obviously a rat. No mouse could hope to grow that big. Fat, sloppy, but probably abnormally strong. He shuddered on thinking how Fievel must have felt being dragged inside by _that_ mutant. He silently continued on.

He reached a door and heard voices from inside. Hope came to his eyes. Softly he knocked and heard panicked whispers ensue. After a moment the door opened, though, and he knew immediately they'd sensed this wasn't their boss. It didn't take a genius to guess that the boss would have been bellowing or barging in, not knocking. Dylan swiftly went inside and shut the door. "Who are _you_?" a mouse asked.

"Me name is o' no consequence," he replied. "I'm lookin' far a little boy, blue hat red shirt."

"A little boy?" one asked.

"The new slave," another said, shaking his head.

"He's not here, and soon none of us will be. The child came up with a way to escape this nightmare! We'd thought of it before, but he… he had the hope and drive to do it. Tony went after him," a third declared. "You'd best be coming with us boy, because you'd be easy prey for the boss."

Dylan wouldn't argue _that_. As he gazed around the room he realized in relief that there wasn't much of a female presence. He hadn't seen one woman at all. A good thing, because he knew full well that the rat would have been… putting it mildly, 'rough' with them. He raced to the window and looked out. He couldn't see anyone nearby. In the distance, though, he heard a Brooklyn mouse who sounded slightly Italian as well, calling, "Hey Filly, Filly, where are ya!?"

Filly? Fievel? Was that possible? He gasped. That little mouse was as elusive as a serpent, and he didn't even know it. Swiftly Dylan swung out the window and clambered down. He wouldn't try his luck sneaking passed the boss again. Alighting on the ground he raced in the direction he'd heard the Brooklyn mouse call from.


	5. Cats

**Song Of The Irish 1**

(A/N: Last three chapters to be posted today. Hope my readers have enjoyed it. As for the dialogue, I know it's nowhere near accurate to American Tail, but I couldn't look up the actual words they spoke, and YouTube doesn't have any American Tail things on it except a few episodes of the series.)

Cats!

It was morning when Dylan had wandered to the main market of this area, having completely lost any trail of Fievel or the Brooklyn mouse. He looked around. It was a nice enough area. The alley's, not so much. They were filled with mousetraps. He'd been taught about those at a young age. His parents had ensured their child wouldn't be falling victim to any such thing. He'd been able to snatch a piece of cheese without trouble. Good thing too, because he had absolutely no money to pay for anything. He looked around, trying to judge whether it was worth it to try and sing for money. He didn't know much about the mice in this city.

He took a bite of the cheese ponderously as he summed up the area. Just then he heard a stomach grumbling, surprisingly not his own. He looked sharply over only to see three little mouse children looking longingly at the cheese. Their mother noticed, though, and apologetically looked at him, gathering the trio together. Where was the father? Wait. She was wearing black, so were the children. His heart became heavy on realizing what it meant. Mourning, funeral, their father wasn't coming back, and it probably hadn't been too long ago that he'd died. Dylan glanced at the cheese then walked over to the mother. She looked nervously at him, and he knew that she had probably had her share of bad experiences with male mice before. He offered her the cheese wordlessly though. Shocked she reached out and took it, cautiously waiting for some sort of proposition. He just smirked and bowed to her. He left before she could even say a thank you.

All at once he heard a voice saying, "Play Fievel's song, papa. Maybe he'll hear and come find us!" Tanya! He gasped and swiftly hurried that direction.

"Ah Tanya, not this again. Let it go," Papa was insisting. Dylan quickly moved through the crowds and gasped. There he saw them with a cart! He grinned excitedly, actually grinned, and his ears again almost fully perked. Not quite, but almost. The grin fell, though, on seeing what was above them. Fievel was following a young mouse man, probably an older teenager or even around _his_ age, and he had no doubts this mouse was the Brooklyn accented one, Tony he assumed the name was from what the workers had said. Look up, Mousekewitz's look up! Hear your lost child speaking! He tried to call out to them, but the marketplace was too loud. Quickly he raced towards Papa and Tanya. If he could just get to them…

AAT

All at once there were shrieks of terror and he slid to a stop catching his breath and paling. Shrieks? That could only mean one thing! "Cats!" mice began to scream in fear. Dylan gasped on seeing felines suddenly leapt out of seemingly nowhere and attack anything and everything that moved! The mice scrambled in terror, but he stared numbly at them, mouth dropped. No cats in America? Who was the mouse who came up with _that_? Wait, he should probably run. Immediately he turned and bolted away. The cats were grabbing mice by the dozens! They were clearing an eighth of the marketplace!

Where were the Mousekewitz's? He looked around, terrified for them. All at once he ran into a mouse. The two fell with cries of pain. Quickly they grabbed each other and pulled one another up. On seeing each other they both gasped. Irish! They knew their own well enough. They were both Irish! They heard a growl and sharply turned. A cat had pounced. The duo bolted desperately. "Micky O'Donnell at yer service," the young man said, smiling wryly at Dylan and nodding a greeting, eyes filled with excitement and life; how _he_ should have been, Dylan wryly realized.

"Dylan O'Brian," Dylan replied. "Strange time far introductions," he remarked.

They dodged a pouncing feline and bolted towards an alley. "Been ta the Irish quarter lad?" Micky asked. "Whole population o' Irish mice."

"No. I'll be sure ta find it, lad," Dylan replied.

"If we survive this I'll take ya personally," Micky said.

"Look out!" Dylan cried as a cat suddenly attacked. The two hit the ground. The cat quickly turned on them. Both squeaking they tried to bolt. Micky, however, wasn't as lucky. The cat pinned him. Dylan slid to a stop and gasped, turning. He raced back to try and help the other mouse, but he heard breaking bones and Micky lay still. Dylan crouched down low, pale. Just like that the other mouse was gone. Like Nan… just like Nan. He felt tears burning his eyes and desperately tried to get rid of them. He couldn't risk it now. The feline looked up and caught his eyes. Dylan sobbed, shaking his head. He rose up straight. The cat licked its lips and ran at him. All at once, however, he felt himself grabbed by the arm and pulled to the side!

He gasped, looking over at his savior. The Brooklyn mouse! "You!" Dylan exclaimed.

"Me? What do ya mean me? Never mind. What are ya doin' mousey? Ya wanna be a sittin' duck for them cats?" Tony demanded. Dylan looked ahead and his eyes widened. This Brooklyn boy was running towards a young Irish lass. The girl's eyes widened on seeing him with Tony. Again, the Irish recognized each other. All at once she screamed. Debris was about to fall over top of all three of them! Tony let him go, crying out in terror, and Dylan dove to the side. He looked back. He couldn't see Tony, but how he hoped he and the girl hadn't been two more casualties of this attack.

He heard a scream and quickly looked over. Tanya! He gasped. A metal piece was about to fall on her. "Tanya, Yasha!" he heard Papa and Mama scream. Both were trapped by debris already. Tanya clung to Yasha in terror. No, not again. He wouldn't lose another. He raced forward and grabbed Tanya around the waist, pulling her free of the debris and leaping to the side. The three barely missed the metal bar!

"Dylan!" Tanya exclaimed, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out how it was possible for someone to sound so terrified yet so happy and excited at the same time. Thrill, maybe? He wouldn't question it. The attack was slowly ending as they burrowed under debris in order to hide from the felines.

AAT

"Well, Mr. There are no _what's_, in America?" Mama icily asked Papa as things calmed.

Nervously giggling, Papa replied, "Cats?" Dylan face palmed, shaking his head. He looked over at Tanya and Yasha to ensure they were alright.

"Dylan, you're safe!" Mama exclaimed in relief as she and Papa climbed out of their hiding spots.

"My boy, you are a hero!" Papa said.

"I wish I _had_ been," Dylan quietly said, refusing to meet their eyes. His thoughts were still on Micky. It wasn't even a second before the two adults caught on. Immediately their expressions became horrified, then saddened, then pitying. How he hated pity. At the same time, though, he didn't, if that made any sense.

"Dylan…" Mama said.

"Child, you have seen far too much for one your age," Papa quietly remarked. Dylan felt a burning in his eyes and closed them tightly. Wordlessly he joined the Mousekewitz parents in helping to dig out bodies or help survivors whilst Tanya and Yasha stayed away. Just like Ireland, except this wasn't a land he loved nearly as much. Papa and Mama protested, tried to get him to stay out of it, but no. He wouldn't listen. He just went on listlessly, almost unaware of what anyone was saying to him. He came to Micky's body and paused, looking down on him.

"Aye, another one," a voice said from close by. He looked around. No Mousekewitz's, he must had drifted away from them, but there was a fat Irish mouse who seemed slightly drunk. "Name's Honest John, lad, I could sense ya a mile away. Kin o' the deceased?" he questioned.

"No sir, just met 'im as we was fleein' from the cats," Dylan answered quietly.

"Ah a bard! Yer voice says it all. 'Aven't 'ad a good Irish bard around these parts since… well, a long time, lad," Honest John said. Looking at the body again, he added, "Another name ta make up. Didn't even get the chance ta meet the lad. It's gettin' harder and harder ta know people."

"'Is name was Micky O'Donell," Dylan said quietly, not wanting the mouse to be buried under a name that wasn't his own.

AAT

Honest John summed up the young man next to him. Rather, boy, for the lad couldn't be much more than twenty, if that. His eyes softened gently. He saw in this young man suffering and misery; unbearable pain, more than the mere child could ever hope to handle; and John knew immediately that this youth had lost his innocence long ago, lost his hope and his love for life. He was almost catatonic, almost the walking dead in a way, but he sensed a fire burning inside the young man somewhere. A pity he didn't let it out. This boy was resigned to whatever fate had planned for him. He had probably seen far more than even old mice had. He marvelled at how the young mouse simply hadn't given up and killed himself yet. But then this boy pulled a flower from his vest and gazed at it, and John knew immediately. He'd promised some young lass he wouldn't do any such harm to himself. That was the only explanation; and seeing as that lass wasn't standing next to him… John shivered.

"What's yer name, lad?" John questioned.

"Names mean nothin'," Dylan answered.

"So we're ta let yer corpse rot, let ya be buried under an unknown title. Ya don't care, do ya?" John asked. Dylan said nothing, just stroked the flower petals. "Lad, let yer name be known, so I don't 'ave ta give ya one."

For a long moment the mouse was silent. Finally he replied, "Dylan O'Brian."

"What was 'ers?" John questioned.

Dylan looked woefully at him. After a moment he answered, "Nan."

"I see. Come to Micky's funeral, lad, and join yer kin. Take strength from our bond and beguile us with songs and tales o' the homeland. Tell us about everything, 'ow Ireland's doin', and maybe even yer own story," John offered. Dylan smirked quietly. Finally he nodded. "Good on ya lad. 'Ere's the directions," John said, handing Dylan a paper. Dylan took it sadly. John tipped his hat and left. Dylan looked around for the Mousekewitz's. Spotting them he headed over, Fievel being all but forgotten.


	6. The Wind That Shakes The Barley

**Song Of The Irish 1**

(A/N: Second up today.)

The Wind That Shakes The Barley

Dylan slipped silently inside the funeral home and looked around at the mourners. No family, no friends, yet still there was mourning. He saw Micky's body on the table. Dylan silently made his way over to it and looked down. He could have become friends with this mouse had he lived. He'd liked his reckless excitement. He crossed his arms looking down. "Oh, poor lad. Another far the books," he heard John say. He didn't look up, he wasn't the one being addressed; silently he moved to the back of the room.

"Yer new here, lad?" a girl asked.

Dylan looked curiously over. "Aye, just came over on the last boat," he replied, smiling courteously. There was a spark of interest in her eyes as she watched him approvingly. Why she approved he had no clue. Compared to most others he was by no stretch of the imagination a catch.

"Did ya know the poor lad?" she asked, looking to the body.

"I knew 'is name," Dylan replied. "We fled together. He got caught, I got away."

"Must 'ave been 'ard ta watch," she said. Dylan was silent. If he were to be honest, it really wasn't. Not compared to other things he'd witnessed.

"Aye," he simply answered.

AAT

"John!" a high pitched voice said. Dylan cringed and looked sharply over at the origin. In waltzed a rich looking American mouse! He blinked blankly. She and John began to talk, but he only caught parts of the conversation. "Cover that mouse up!" she exclaimed, looking at Micky's body.

"An old Irish custom," he heard John reply.

He couldn't hear much more until the rich mouse declared, "Something has to be done about these cats. They don't even know the diffwence between wich and poor!" He couldn't hear the next words, but then she said, "We must have a wawwy."

"A what now?" John asked.

"A wawwy," the mouse repeated. "You know a gathering of mice…"

"Oh, you mean a rally!" John said.

"That's what I said. A wawwy," the declared. "You get the downtown mice, I'll get the rich ones. We meet tomorrow." As quickly as she'd come she left. Dylan blinked blankly. He'd never really understood the rich. Not that he hated them like most others did, he just didn't get their mentality. It was beyond him, and he supposed he liked it that way.

AAT

All at once John was next to him saying, "Now that that's done, we've been dyin' ta 'ear ya sing, lad. Show us what ya've got."

"I don't know…" Dylan reluctantly began.

"Come on lad, I promised singing so let there be song," John said, slinging an arm around Dylan's shoulders. "Sing a good Irish folk tune," he insisted. Dylan mulled it over then nodded. "Everyone quiet! The minstrel's a goin' ta sing us a song!" John yelled out. Dylan cringed at the sudden silence, and all the attention on him.

He looked them over, trying to decide what to sing. He supposed in his heart he knew what he'd choose long before he'd been put on the spot. But did he dare? Would he be able to contain his pain and anger and misery? _The Wind That Shakes The Barley_… It hit so close to home, but here, now… Yes, he would risk it all. Risk complete breakdown in front of a room of complete strangers. Better here than anywhere else though, he supposed. They waited patiently. He took a lute a mouse handed to him and looked at it quietly. Finally he began to strum out the tune, and then he began to sing:

_I sat within the valley green,_

_I sat me with my true love;_

_And sad heart strove to choose between,_

_The old love and the new love._

_The old for her the new that made me,_

_Think on Ireland dearly;_

_And soft the wind blew down the glade,_

_That shook the golden barley._

He regretted this already. His heart shattered with each word, and each moment he prayed for death as he sang and danced amongst his fellow countrymen. Tears in his eyes, he knew, and there wasn't a word spoken, not a mouse moved, as the young Irishman sang.

_T'was hard the woeful words to frame,_

_To break the ties that bound us;_

_But harder still to bear the shame,_

_Of foreign chains around us._

_And so I said, "The mountain glen,_

_I'll seek at morning early;_

_And join the brave United Men,_

_Where soft winds shake the barley._

John wiped a tear from his eye. Poor lad. He could hear the pain in each word and it stabbed at his heart as well, and every other Irish mouse there was in the funeral home. Not an eye was dry by now.

_T'was sad I kissed away her tears,_

_Her arms around me clinging;_

_When true I hear that fateful shot,_

_From out the wildwood ringing._

_The bullet pierced my true love's breast,_

_In life's young spring so early;_

_And there upon my breast she died,_

_While soft winds shook the barley._

There was a sob from somewhere. A woman leaned into her husband weeping. Tightly the husband held her back. Oh immortals, he wanted to just stop singing there and then. He couldn't do this. Oh how he wished pain would end, how he wished he'd died long ago.

_I bore her to some mountain stream,_

_And many's the summer blossom;_

_I placed with branches soft and green,_

_About her gore-stained bosom._

_I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse,_

_Then rushed o'er vale and valley;_

_My vengeance on the foe to wreak,_

_While soft winds shook the barley._

Now there was anger in his tone, pure unbridled fury and anguish, and John knew, as did the others, that given the chance, that was exactly what he would do. Cat or no cat, sooner or later this fury and pain would drive him to madness. _Now_ John knew what the fire that burned inside this young Irish mouse was. How rarely it came out, how rarely did it bring life to the boy, but oh they saw life now, blazing in his eyes. There was the young man that had been lost so long ago, the way young men should be. Reckless and animated.

_T'was blood for blood without remorse,_

_I've taken at Oulert Hollow;_

_I've placed my true love's clay-cold corpse,_

_Where mine full soon may follow._

_Around her grave I wander drear,_

_Noon, night, and morning early;_

_With breaking heart when e'er I hear,_

_The wind that shakes the barley._

AAT

The song ended. No applause. Now wasn't the time, and Dylan didn't want to hear it. Neither did the others, it seemed, as not an eye was dry. All were weeping. He backed away to the side once more. He was through. Not another word would pass his lips tonight, despite the compliments and praises showered on him for the performance. He hardly met anyone's eyes. He didn't need to go singing the tale of his life. It had been sung just now in detail, and what wasn't accurate the other mice had determined and replaced with what he had no doubts was the correct story. Silently he went outside onto a balcony. There, looking out towards the ocean, he fell to his knees and burst into heart wrenching sobs, rocking back and forth. From inside John watched piteously. Quietly he shut the drapes, hiding the young mouse from view, and returned to the other mice.


	7. Orphan Alley

**Song Of The Irish 1**

(A/N: Third chapter up today and last chapter in the story.)

Orphan Alley

Dylan followed the crowds of mice heading to the rally listlessly, hardly looking up from the ground. Honest John hadn't left his side yet, silently walking alongside the young mouse. He didn't know what it was, but something about this young mouse struck a paternal cord in him. He would play father figure, for a time. He looked over at the silent boy and gently put a hand on his shoulder. Dylan glanced wearily up and forced a small smirk. As if _that_ would assure the man. "I can't say I understand yer pain, Dylan, but I'm sorry far everythin'. No lad should 'ave ta go through an ordeal like that," John remarked.

"I don't want sympathy," Dylan quietly remarked.

"I wish I could give ya somethin' more, but I'm only a mouse, boy, no matter what me speeches say," John declared. Dylan chuckled softly and nodded. "'Ere's a good spot, lad. You'll get a good view. I 'ave ta move to the stage." John swiftly left. Dylan looked up at the stage quietly. Soon enough the rally began. He couldn't see the back of the stage, but he could see the rich woman. All at once a little figure in red and blue darted passed! Dylan started. Was that… No, it couldn't be! But yes, yes it was! Fievel!

He immediately began to try and shove passed the other mice, but they would have none of that. He was shoved back into place and shot dirty looks. He wouldn't be getting through this crowd, but maybe the Mousekewitz's, wherever they were, could see Fievel! That hope was dashed when no one cried out the mouse boy's name. He supposed no one would hear anyway over the cheering. Then the rich woman said they had a plan, and he just knew, if only from how outlandish and impossible it sounded, that it had come from the small boy.

AAT

Dylan wandered restlessly around the worksite. His eyes roamed desperately for any sign of the small boy. He'd seen the Mousekewitz's yet hadn't been able to even talk to them to tell them their beloved child was alive. He frustratedly turned back to working on the Giant Mouse of Mince. He had to admit, he hadn't thought they'd even get this far. It was shaping up nicely, and the plan was almost fool proof. Where was Fievel? He'd spotted Tony and Bridgette, as he learned her name was while working with the duo. Most of the work was done. All they had to do now was wait for six o'clock.

All at once he heard screaming. Everyone tensed up as the voice cried, "Cats, cats! The cats are coming!" Panic immediately ensued. He gasped and pulled away from the action, swiftly clambering up higher. That was the voice of a child! He reached the top and raced to the ledge, peering out into the dark. Sure enough there was the blue hat racing towards the safety of the other mice! Right behind him were cats galore. Dylan could only stare in shock. Fievel had gotten inside and suddenly he was surrounded as the other mice raced up and tried to distract the cats. It was too early!

Fievel was suddenly up there too. Dylan found himself right next to him! He was in arms reach yet he didn't move. Fievel was busy talking. "He's not a rat, he's a cat!" Fievel cried. Dylan gasped and looked sharply over. Warren T. Rat, was a _cat_? Actually, that wasn't a shocker, thinking back to the short time he'd watched the feline.

"Who are ya going to believe? Me, or your own eyes?" Warren asked. Dylan scoffed. He had to be kidding. Then he was trying to bargain for Fievel's life in exchange for them leaving! Protectively Dylan put a hand on Fievel's shoulder, the latter of which finally noticed him. The boys eyes widened on recognizing him. Not that either had any time to speak, because suddenly everything was happening at once.

The Giant Mouse of Mince wasn't working and desperately they were trying to get it to. Finally the time had come! Fievel darted off and grabbed a torch. Dylan desperately followed him, trying to catch up. He would have done so easily if he hadn't been barrelled into by two other mice. Fievel burned the rope, but suddenly it snapped back and struck him viciously! Dylan gasped and paled. The boy went flying! "No, Fievel!" Dylan cried, trying to get to him. The others had it covered, but the boy needed help!

AAT

He hardly could process how quickly the whole warehouse had caught on fire. All he realized was that suddenly he was alone in the middle of a burning building and dock, trying to find a little boy who could have very easily been killed by the rope snapping back on him. There were sirens; the humans were trying to put out the blaze. Dylan desperately searched through the building coughing on the smoke, even when he got low. "Fievel, where are ya lad!" he cried desperately.

Then he saw the boy's delicate frame leaning against something. He gasped and for a moment feared the worst. He sprang forward. Debris was about to fall on the child! He grabbed up the boy and raced out from under it. Quickly he carried the boy to an area that appeared to be wet enough for the fire not to reach well. He leapt up onto the object and placed the boy quickly down on the other side of it. Just then, however, a sudden burst of flame caught him, setting his clothes alight. He darted, intending to stop drop and roll, but all at once a jet of water from a hose struck him. He cried out in pain and went flying, nearly drowning in the process. He slammed onto the dock and cried out in pain, rolling.

He slid off the edge above the dark water! Desperately he grabbed the edge of the dock and clung onto it, trying to get back up. At least he wasn't on fire anymore, he wryly figured. The dock was slippery, though, and another blast of water suddenly hit him. He let go with a cry of fear and plunged into the ocean! Huge Ocean and small mouse did not mix, he realized in fear. Quickly he swam to the surface coughing. He saw land, but it seemed so far away! Nonetheless he began to swim. The last thing he wanted to be was fish food. And besides, he needed to find Fievel.

AAT

It seemed like hours before he reached land again, panting, gasping, coughing, soaked, chilled, and exhausted. He wouldn't doubt hypothermia. Weakly he staggered up and leaned against a rock trying to get his bearings. No mouse should have been able to swim that distance without drowning. Why hadn't _he_ been one of those lucky ones? He looked up at the burned building and forced himself to move towards it. It was funny, really, he'd never begun to guess he had this kind of strength and endurance inside of him. Perhaps that was what the mouse fighters of Ireland had seen in him that he hadn't.

He made his way to the area he'd left the child, calling, "Fievel?!" He stopped and stared. No Fievel. No way. The boy couldn't have possibly scrambled away again! Where would he have gone, though? In his state, surely not far. He looked worriedly around and scanned the ground. He saw tracks there and started. A baby mouse's footsteps. Quickly he began to follow them, hoping the trail didn't dry up. Apparently the boy had awoken only a little while before he'd gotten to this spot.

He clambered through the streets looking around for the boy. After a time he came to an alley. Curiously he looked down it. It was dark and not at all a pleasant atmosphere. He looked for a sign and his heart dropped on finding it. Orphan Alley. Fievel. Dylan looked into it and quickly went down, looking around for the familiar blue hat. He saw children all around, sleeping either soundly or miserably on the ground in beds of straw. His heart went out to them. He knew what that was like well enough. He'd only been a young lad when his own parents had died. Too young to have been left alone. He hated feeling helpless, and he felt it now.

AAT

Then he stopped suddenly. He spotted the red shirt. No hat, but the red shirt, and the shivering mouse child. He stared quietly. He was about to go down and collect the boy when all at once he heard a violin being played, heard a name being called. "Fievel, Fievel!"

"Filly, where are ya!?" another shouted. Tony, he realized. The first that had called had been Tanya. Dylan fell back. Let his family find him.

Fievel was awake. He was calling for them, searching for them. Dylan followed from a distance, in case by some unfortunate event they missed each other again. It didn't happen. It almost did, but then… Well, this reunion happening in front of him hadn't spontaneously spawned. He watched from out of sight and smirked quietly. He watched Bridgette and Tony kiss. His smile became sad, his eyes tired, and then the smile fell. Tanya looked over just then, right at him. Her expression was awed. She probably thought he was her brother's guardian angel, judging by the look she was giving him. She gasped, grinned, and was about to run to him, but he shook his head quietly. She paused, grin falling. Not right now, Tanya, not right now, he silently willed. He tipped his hat to the girl then turned and walked away whistling _The Winds That Shake The Barley_. Tanya watched sadly after him, tears in her eyes, then looked down as the Irishman disappeared into the darkened alley's.


End file.
